


Strange Ideas

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Veela Fest 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville has a fantasy and Draco's willing to play. Now he just has to get through a day of work. Too bad life as an Auror is never easy, especially not when your partner is the Boy-Who-Lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Ideas

Neville Longbottom had some strange ideas. "You want me to do _what_?" Draco gave him a sharp look, one that should have struck fear into Neville's heart. Unfortunately for Draco, he was too busy ogling the paler man while he curled up on the loveseat in an oversized sweater, looking every bit the part of the boyfriend seeing his lover off to work at the crack ass of dawn.

"I—I, you know," Neville fumbled. "The wings," he added weakly, sinking into the empty seat next to his boyfriend and staring at the floor. Though they'd been together for several years, since just after The War—a thing that was always capitalized in everyone's minds—Neville still had trouble talking to Draco about some things. Namely, sex.

"That just sounds odd."

"I guess." Neville gave a choked laugh, fidgeting in his seat. "I mean, well—it just—"

"You kinky sod," Draco shook his head.

"Right." Neville deflated. _It was just an idea_, he though piteously.

"Oh, don't sulk," Draco said, exasperated. "I didn't say _no_, now did I?"

"No," Neville said," I guess not."

"I suppose I just don't understand why you're so fixated on my damn wings," Draco continued, shifting so he could rest his head on Neville's shoulder.

"They're pretty," Neville said lamely. At Draco's skeptical look, he rolled his eyes. "They are! And when we do—things, it just—I can't even describe it." Neville's face burned with embarrassment from such a candid discussion, but certain other parts of his anatomy couldn't have been any more thrilled.

"Apparently so," Draco drawled, smirking as he dropped one hand on Neville's thigh, sliding it slowly up.

"Not now," Neville groaned, moving the hand with great reluctance. "I have to go to work."

"Fuck, just stay home! You've gotten me all in the mood!" Draco growled, shoving Neville sideways onto his back and shimmying up on to his lap, the tiny sofa groaning beneath the shift in weight.

"I can't," Neville gasped, bucking up into Draco as he sat astride his hips. "_Fucking Merlin's balls_!"

"Language, love," Draco purred, gyrating his hips as his baser instincts took over.

"Turn off," Neville couldn't stop humping up into the other man, his cock taking a life of its own under the onslaught of pure Veela magic, "your bloody powers!" Draco scowled but complied, rolling off Neville and sliding onto his feet.

"Fine," he sulked. "Hurry up, then. I need a shower."

"Yeah, you go wank," Neville groaned, refusing to give in to the delicious mental images that statement provoked. "I have to get to work. But tonight…?"

"Tonight," Draco agreed with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You had best hurry home."

oOoOoOo

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a disaster. Immediately upon flooing in, Neville had been grabbed by Harry and taken straight to the Head Auror's office.

"Excellent, you're both here," Kingsley said as they stepped into his office and dropped into the guest seats opposite his desk. "Potter, Longbottom, we have a situation."

"What kind of situation, Sir?" Harry asked, glancing at Neville.

"A group of Death Eater wannabes," Kingsley replied dryly, "have been using the Imperius charm on muggles and having them attack other muggles. It's very amateur and unorganized, so we aren't too worried about the skill of the wizards involved, but several muggles were killed in an attack last night."

"Where are the attacks taking place?"

"Surrey, oddly enough."

"Surrey?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Were my—"

"I've been assured that your relatives were not involved in any of the attacks. To the best of my knowledge, they haven't been in their home for the past week." Harry slumped down in his seat with relief, and Neville shot him a sympathetic look. Everyone knew about Harry's muggles and the poor relationship between them, but following The War, Aurors stumbled onto several attacks on the Dursleys' lives by the remnants of Voldemort's supporters, all centering on revenge against the Boy Who Lived. Harry was constantly chasing after them, often dragging Neville along with him. _One of the benefits of being the Savior's partner_, Harry had said to him once with a sardonic smile, apologetic at the amount of work his partner was being forced to do because of him. Neville didn't mind, but Draco always had a lot to say about it.

"We'll be going to Surrey, I take it?" Neville asked.

"Yes. Intelligence tells us that the group is operating from underground." Harry groaned, and Neville frowned.

"What do you mean, underground?" He asked slowly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"My boy," Kingsley said, face stretching into the near-sadistic grin that never failed to send the trainees running, "you'll be navigating through the sewer system of Surrey. I'll see you both back in my office when the job is done." Neville and Harry looked at each other, twin expressions of horror.

_Tuesdays officially suck_, Neville thought as Kingsley pressed their portkeys into their hands, pulling them away from London.

oOoOoOo

"I hate my life," Harry said emphatically several hours later. Neville grunted his agreement, collapsing onto the filthy sewer ground, too covered in the filth and sludge to care any longer. "How many more do you think there are?"

"Well, we've sent, what? seven back to the Department so far?" Neville asked, tallying the numbers in his head. "Who the hell knows?"

"Wonderful," Harry muttered, dropping down next to him. "Fucking Death Eater wannabes. You'd think they'd, fuck, go to another country or something, right? I don't know why they have to stick around here."

"To annoy you, I think," Neville grinned.

"Of course," Harry snorted. "You got the time?"

"Er, yeah," Neville glanced at his wristwatch. "Oh, hell, it's nearly seven!"

"I guess we're not eating dinner," Harry joked, frowning when he noticed the stricken look on Neville's face. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing really," Neville sighed. "Just, you know, Draco. We had… plans for tonight, I guess you could say."

"Oh," Harry winced, knowing just how difficult Draco could be when it came to Neville. "Ouch. Think he'll come after my hide for keeping you?"

"It's Draco, so probably."

"I'll make it up to you guys," Harry said, sobering. "I know you get put up with a lot of shit being my partner—"

"I don't really mind, honest—"

"—but I'll, I don't know, take you guys out one night," Harry finished, adamantly ignoring Neville's protests. "Well, without Ron, anyway. He still goes into paroxysms of heterosexual rage whenever he sees you two together."

"Ron is Ron," Neville shrugged. "If it weren't Draco, I don't really think he'd care."

"Yeah, still," Harry said. "Ginny and I'll take you somewhere."

"If you want," Neville shrugged. "Like I said, Draco may have—well, opinions, I guess, but I knew what I was getting into when I signed on as your partner."

"You—" Harry's mouth snapped shut, his eyes darting around the sewer as a sudden echoing sound made itself known. "Did you hear that?" He hissed out, pulling up into a low crouch. Neville nodded, following suit.

"Guess we know where the others are."

"Let's finish this up and get the hell out of here," Harry said, wand out. Together, they flattened against the sewer walls, waiting as the sounds came closer. Harry gave Neville a sharp nod, and they moved out.

oOoOoOo

It was near midnight by the time Harry and Neville made it back to the Ministry, managing to capture twenty-two people directly involved in the attacks on the muggles. Kingsley had been pleased, to say the least.

"I had a feeling you two could manage it just fine," he said. "The Minister wasn't too thrilled to have two new Aurors as the only case workers, but I knew."

"Er, thanks, Sir," Neville said.

"I guess we finally get to go home," Harry said, relieved, as they walked down to the floo station at the other end of the Department. "Reckon Draco'll still be awake?"

"Without a doubt," Neville sighed. "Pissed as all hell, too, I bet."

"Tell him it's my fault," Harry said magnanimously, "especially considering he'll think that anyway."

"I'm sure he won't—"

"You're a good guy, Neville," Harry laughed, "and Draco more or less thinks you can do no wrong. It's always _Potter, why is Neville in St. Mungo's AGAIN? Where is your sense of loyalty, POTTER? Why aren't YOU the one, Potter?_"

"I guess he can be a bit overbearing at times," Neville smiled. "It's just his way."

"A Veela thing, right? Fleur's that way with Bill, too," Harry said as they got in line, careful not to stand too close to the wizards in front of them who were cringing at the sewer smell sticking to their filthy robes. "Every time Ginny and I go to Shell Cottage for dinner, Fleur just _looms_ over him. It's kind of sweet, but honest to God, that woman scares the hell out of me sometimes." He paused thoughtfully. "Yeah, just like Draco."

"You there, next!" Neville and Harry looked up at the sound of one of the stuffy little wizards running the Floo system beckoning them.

"Go ahead," Harry said, nudging Neville. "It doesn't matter what time I get home." With a grateful nod, Neville grabbed a handful of powder and stepped in, feeling the nauseating whirl of Floo travel just before the flames spit him out, his body landing with a dull thud on the living room floor of his and Draco's flat.

"Ugh," he grunted, pulling himself up and kicking off his shoes, mindful of the muck covering him so as not to dirty the carpet. Most of the lights were off in the flat, and Neville immediately felt guilt gnawing at his mind, regardless of the fact that nothing anyone did would've gotten him there any earlier. The kitchen light was on, and he popped his head in the doorway, the worried frown disappearing off his face, immediately replaced by an amused smile. Draco, slouched over in his chair, lay with his face pressed against the tabletop and his hand resting atop a book next to him, occasionally letting out a soft snore.

It was rather obvious that the other man had tried his damndest to wait up for Neville, but Draco never dealt well with boredom. He'd been known to drop off to sleep within seconds whenever Hermione would come by with the others and attempt to lecture him on whatever she was firing off about at the time. House elves, if Neville recalled correctly, had put Draco off faster than anything else she'd ever said to him.

"Draco," he said softly, nudging the man's shoulder. "Wake up." Draco let out several incoherent sounds, rolling his shoulders before sitting up straight and wiping his mouth.

"Neville?" He asked blearily, half awake.

"Yeah," Neville said. "Sorry it took so long." He gestured at the poor state of his robes, grinning sheepishly. "We were running through muggle sewers."

"Ugh, the _smell_!" Draco pinched his nose closed, waving at the doorway. "Go shower, Longbottom!"

"Yeah, all right," Neville waved back. "Be out in a few." Laughing at Draco's melodramatic nature, he pulled off his filthy clothes and ran the shower hot as he could stand it, scrubbing the grime away. They'd tried to _scourgify_ themselves several times, but it didn't seem to help in the least.

Half an hour later, Neville stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his waist. The kitchen lights were off as well, and he supposed that Draco must have been tired of waiting on him and just headed to bed.

"Pity," he muttered, wishing his night could have gone, for once in his life, just the way he'd wanted it to, with Draco and his—

"Are you going to stand out there all day, or are you going to come fuck me?" Neville nearly dropped his towel in fright as Draco popped out of nowhere, standing just outside their bedroom door with nothing more than a pair of Neville's sweatpants riding low on his hips. "Well?" His lips curled up.

"Right," Neville said, voice hoarse with anticipation, his cock already swelling and tenting the towel. "I—I thought you'd gone to sleep," he added, leaning down and pressing his face to Draco's neck, breathing deeply.

"Hardly," Draco scoffed, leaning into his touch. "You smell quite a bit better, you know."

"Anything'd smell better than that mess," he chuckled, walking Draco backwards into their room, not stopping until the backs of his knees had hit the mattress, urging him down onto his back.

"You are ready, aren't you?" Draco grinned wickedly. "But then, me spread out on my back isn't going to get you your fantasy, is it? Let me help you, tonight." Neville dropped the towel as Draco tore off the stolen pants, shifting around until he was on his back and Draco was on all fours above him, remaining steady and still as Neville's eyes and hands took in every inch of his pale, trim body.

"You're beautiful," he said, pleasure pooling in his stomach as Draco's face took on a soft red hue.

"Of course," Draco preened. "But we already knew that, didn't we?" He slid down Neville's body, fingernails dragging lightly against the Gryffindor's tanner skin. "Lovely," he breathed when he reached his goal, his lips hovering just above Neville's thick, swollen cock, his heated breath causing it to jerk. Neville groaned, shifting restlessly below him. "Steady, love," Draco murmured, wrapping one hand around its girth and pressing his lips to the tip. "We have all night."

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Neville chanted, his voice low and rough with arousal. Draco's tongue pressed flat against the head of his cock, his eyes never leaving Neville's as it twitched and leaked against his tongue.

"Do you want more?" He asked, that wicked grin cemented on his face. Neville nearly whimpered at the intensity of it all, nodding frantically as his hips jerked, pushing his cock against Draco's face and cheek, leaving a glistening trail of precum in its wake. Draco hummed contentedly, parting his lips and taking in the head, giving a hard suck before releasing it again with a wet pop. "Or maybe," he continued, the hand fisted around Neville's cock squeezing and releasing leisurely, "you want something else?"

That same image blossomed behind Neville's eyes, the one that flitted in and out of his dreams. Draco riding him hard, his wings stretched out behind him, his own hands on those slim pale hips—"Yeah," he said faintly, "what—what I said before. The wings." The wings that had, since the first moment he'd laid eyes on them, been a strange and unexplainable source of erotic thoughts. There was something about the idea of fucking a man with wings like an angel's, a strange idea that appealed to the less noble part of Neville's mind.

"The wings," Draco repeated, releasing Neville's cock and sitting back on his haunches. "You want me to ride you? With them out?" He crawled up, straddling Neville's hips and rocking back against his tortured, red cock.

"_Yes_," Neville rasped, his hands gripping Draco's hips hard enough to bruise, jerking down hard. "Fuck—_please_." Draco bit his lip, rolling his hips back for a moment before jerking away, scrambling over Neville to reach into the drawer of their bedside table and pull out the lube.

"Can you—"

"Let me," Neville cut in, nudging Draco back into place with his knees and grabbing the small tube, squirting a liberal amount onto his palm. "I'll get you nice and wet," he said, rubbing it between his hands to keep it warm. They were both aroused to the point of pain, and Neville was clinging to the last vestiges of self-control as he slid the first finger in knuckle deep. Draco's ass tightened around the slim digit, and the man let out an impatient sound.

"Don't go so slow," he moaned, his eyes closing in relief as Neville slid in another two simultaneously, coating his inner walls with the thick gel. Draco's sexual energy was thick in the air, his normally gray eyes gleaming in an off gold color as his Veela magic rolled off him in waves, driving Neville on.

"The wings," Neville reminded him as he withdrew his fingers, slicking his own cock for a moment before setting the head at his entrance. Draco shifted, taking only the tip inside him and bracing his legs.

"I need you inside first," he said stiffly, his voice strained with need. "Just—" He cut himself off, keening loudly as Neville jerked his hips down, shoving his cock in deep. "Wait—" Draco said breathlessly, "just—_nngh_—"

Neville always wondered if the transformations were painful. It should be, he'd always thought. Wings out of nowhere and even the beak and claws if Draco was mad enough. Even so, it was always, always beautiful to watch. Draco's back bent as though it were intending to break itself in two, his neck rolling forward until his forehead was pressed to Neville's chest while his ass clung to Neville's dick. A moment passed, and Draco breathed heavily, panting into Neville's sweaty chest.

Running a finger through Draco's damp hair, Neville felt, rather than saw, the other man's body tense and contract repeatedly as the wings withdrew, Draco's muscles jumping against Neville's body throughout the process.

"All right?" Neville asked, and Draco pulled away from him, sitting back onto his cock with large feathered wings beating behind him, brushing against Neville's legs where they sprawled out behind Draco.

"Yes," came the response, voice unsteady. Draco's body was tight, too tight, and Neville couldn't move at all. The wings stretched out, spanning all the way across the bed, leaving a few scant feet of the bedroom on either side. Giving a shuttering breath, Draco drew himself upward until only the head of Neville's swollen cock remained, then slammed himself down.

They were both screaming incoherently as Draco rode him hard, but Neville felt completely separated from the sounds as his lover's body drew him in deep, the muscles flexing around his cock. "Please," he found himself whispering, his hands holding on to Draco's thighs helplessly, scrabbling to keep hold of the sweaty, moving flesh. Draco moved fast, fucking Neville's cock mercilessly, his toes curling into the mattress as he tried fruitlessly to anchor himself to something. He didn't even have time to take a breath as his cock gave one final jerk and exploded over Neville's stomach and chest, his eyes rolling back to the whites and his sharp nails digging into the other man's arms. Neville managed to ride through Draco's orgasm, his body burning from the mass amount of Veela magic pulsing over and around him. Several more thrusts and he was over the edge, his mind holding on to the image of great white wings beating just behind pale, glistening shoulders as his eyes shut tight, his hips rocking up into Draco's body, jerking involuntarily with the force of his orgasm.

When Neville managed to open his eyes again, Draco had already slumped over beside him, his eyes falling shut and rapidly flickering open again as he tried to stay awake. Just over his shoulder, the clock flashed 2:07 A.M.

"I have to work tomorrow," Neville mumbled tiredly. "Raids." As amazing as it was, they really shouldn't have done that.

"Of course," Draco said, "can't let anything get in the way of saving the day." His voice was hoarse, but he smiled, bumping his forehead into Neville's shoulder. "Go to sleep." Neville didn't even think to respond, his eyes drooping shut. Draco watched him for a moment, waiting for his breath to even out and his face to relax. Then, carefully, he slid out of bed, grabbing his wand and giving the clock a tap to shut the alarm off.

_The world can save itself tomorrow_, Draco thought smugly, and he'd be sure to owl Potter in the morning to let him know.


End file.
